


0 to the Ancestors

by croDinoo



Series: Tortoise [1]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Azran Legacy, Expectially when there's no tag for your character environment ANYTHING, Frequent editing for drawing and fixing, Headcanon, I'm Bad At Tagging, Pre-Canon, There's A Tag For That, tons of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/croDinoo/pseuds/croDinoo
Summary: As the Azra was blotted by its dealers Azrani's blood, our past begins.Azra would have been the law, Azrani the operators.long story short, azran long before creating golems and condemning (or damning) themself to death
Series: Tortoise [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745518
Comments: 12
Kudos: 3





	1. 0

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, my English may be bad, beware.  
> Hope you enjoy anyway.  
> Here goes nothing

_When the Land was yet hostile and unguarded, Man was a Beast just with no fur: different groups of those called_ tribes _tried to have supremacy over the others, and blood watered the sharp wooden spears of the warriors, amplified Power their only will, which lasted for too long._

_But five of those_ tribes _— they were called_ Popuzni _from_ popu _which means_ under _in_ Nhoranka _language — were weaker than the others, and because of their same condition of inferiority and their rare common goal the_ Popuzni _decided for an alliance to defend themselves from the others' spears, amplified Knowledge their last will._

_The alliance was made by men from each tribe, and so it was chosen: no supremacy but equity: a unique Assembly, which would make any effort to feed the supreme Hunger, and a role each tribe to suit their uniquenesses._

_It was called_ Azra Mbrag _,_ Azra _in short._

_And as the_ Azra _was blotted by its dealers_ Azrani _'s blood — us — , our past begins._

Azra _would have been the law,_ Azrani _the operators._


	2. Azra Mbrag

We spot this Deal with our blood looking for and swearing:

guided by our common position as Popuzni,  
inspired by aiding and understanding each other,  
in need of safety and just cooperation,

we seal and commit to join forces of the five signing tribes — Ambrosia, Akhbadain, Eden, Istar, Olhia — by assigning every part to contribute to improvement. Also:

a council is founded for consultation, in which Azra Mbrag will be the law, Azrani the operators,  
it's allowed one unique language,

all for our common goal of ultimate Knowledge; with emphasis on avoiding Nhorani's ways: no power, no violence, no betrayals.

No secrets.


	3. 1 Shnartha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loragh Shnarthag a-nhoshach iuthanizh, ies andagh nhorag a-zinach islagh mbrag, des ungh te-troach modanzh ausa eang iotazh.

_ This little riddle — our story — was possible thanks to the particular societies  _ Popuzni  _ are. _

_ One of these allies and companions are the  _ Ambrosians _ , which live and rule on a little isle in the sea, far 8 days and 135° on boat, reason of why our Ancestors choose an isolated place as  _ Ambrosia  _ to seal a secret Deal as the Deal is. Some of the sailors reported in their journals about the mooring: _

> The sight of that isle is bread for our cores, it's been a week since we've last seen food — and land, too — . The hunger and the Star on its zenith makes me think it is nothing but a delusion.  
> […]  
> They gave us food — bread dunk in soup, they called it _amma-mbru_ — we gladly ate, even if we were merely strangers and possible enemies.

_ This is proof of the hospitality of its people. Also, feasts of every kind and melody are pretty frequent in the year, bringing more communion with everybeing. _

_ These people are flexible and optimistic, with harmony filling and fueling their core. _

_ These people are proud, of their name, heritage of their role in the Deal: they gave the place, and so the chance to start our story — it's confirmed by the complete name of the Deal,  _ Azra Mbrag _ , in which  _ Mbra  _ is the name the natives gave to the isle — and so a reason of pride for the inhabitants, along with their Queen's rule: her hair had been framed by the circlet of Power for less than one year when she signed the Deal, hence Fear, their only nemesis, can't scare them anymore — . _

_ These people are proud, of their Queen,  _ Shnartha the Ray _ , which shines with unending judgement, bringing 40 years of Golden age, and even more years are awaited for the far future. _

_Everyday is considered a bliss given by the Queen, thus every morning just before dawn any men, women, elderly and children would face the highest hill; there her palace stands, where a bright star replacing the still-hidden-by-the-far-mountains Star is awoken by everybeing singing for her rise, and she rises with the light-blue Blanket enveloping the frame. And soon enough she follows, with her ringing tune the Sea'd taught her, and Colors blossom as in Spring and Tireness drifts in a breeze, all while the Star's eye enjoys with a smile. Until the night approaches, as a sweet lullaby flows with the restful waves to let the star take her sleep so that the next day could be brighter, and the subjects and the guards follow soon after._   
_Because there's nothing to fear, when the vast restless waters wraps the little island, shooing looters' ships and housing humbles' rafts._

* * *

It was quiet.  
She was lying on the damp grass, the sky was with no stain and a charming fresh breeze was playing with her hair.  
No problems anytime soon.

She could breathe, freely; her lungs had never been so full of air as far as she could remember, and her core was filled with joy and peace and-  
Quiet. It was quiet, but not like Death.

It was all quiet.

Then a lightning began to pulse, an omen for a tempest approaching soon, but was so little and so far away the shining could have been mistaken for a common dot nailed on the sky.

— Nothing an Ambrosian can't handle — the thought ran faster than the near sea crushing on the coasts. Then the air started to be too cold for her naked limbs and cheeks. Suddenly the wind rised, and now is a storm unfolding a creepy howl.  
The tempest.  
It all was so overwhelming, so that-

And nothing, everything is as if frozen from the chilling cold, even the restless waters, even the air-

_ No. _

No air available.  
Her lungs are hungry — starving now — but no breath was satisfied, not even for gasping.

 _No, don't leave me, air, I've missed you so-_ but then her mind couldn't go on.

She's dying.  
Again.

She's already felt Death approaching before…  
 ~~…~~

… Yesterday, the day before yesterday, the day before that,…  
 ~~… QUICK~~

… but never this much.  
 ~~SHE'S NOT BREATHING~~

Maybe it will finally end. Soon-  
 ~~NOW!~~  
Air starts fluiding again, the gasp from her dying lungs cover the thunders, but the flash opens her eyes wide.

Men in white surrounding her bed. Like ghosts.  
She would have screamed if she hadn't passed out.

… Then…

Her eyes nonchalantly open from the reverie to the true world, finally.  
Even if these blank days have been like routine since last summer, it's still unthinkable to wake up with no music but a heavy tinnitus filling her head. It's so frustrating.  
And all this sweat…  
And this cold…  
And loneliness…

Nobeing is there to embrace her, to reassure or tease or be with her.  
Oh, well, maybe she should provide warmth for herself.  
Her cloudy mind could only register the ties bruising the wrists.

— Ugh — _this must be a joke_ — Wh-

Not even the time to rephrase the thought in her mind that the memory's flashed out.  
Ah. Right. That dream.  
Again.  
She must have struggled and tossed and turned — the wind was really strong — they had to tie her.  
And drug her.

She could understand their determination — or hope or despair — to save her, but they've long crossed the line. She would protest, she would lash out, beg to let the wind drag her away but they won't listen, because they'd think "she's not in her right mind" or something along those lines, and they'd go straight for extreme therapy — if this wasn't already that — .  
Surely it's not their fault — or not only theirs, anyway — ; she herself allowed them to use her as test subjet as the amount of possibility of a mortal illness affecting her was higher than zero. Just for the seek of knowledge.

— Miss — Kalortha approaches, as usual, must be test time soon — you're awake. In a hour the doctors'd like to proceed with the tests until the afternoon~

_ Everything by the book. _

— Can I take a walk, until they come — the intonation passes the question for a order, and that's not wrong. She's the Queen, after all.

The two women start the walk — obviously indoors — after the dressing. They'd warned for heavy clothes, and so heavy clothes are on.

Normally it was Kalortha the one in charge of leading, but today Shnartha wants to stand out.

— The Main Hall

— Miss, please, it's too far-

But the Main she's said, the Main she's ordered, and the Main shall go to.  
Maybe Shnartha was hoping to stretch a little, or to find some new faces or another air to breathe. Well, her legs are weary, it's a little too early to find a living soul and no breeze available. Happy now?  
No, if she's not seen it yet. And she wants to see it by herself.

The Star, still sleeping on the horizon, lets everything undisturbed. The doors can barely hold themselves, while the whole Main belongs to the dust as in crowds it lays on the fornitures. The scarfs should be enough to protect the Queen's lungs, the two women hope.  
The walls manage to stay sturdy, remembering the brilliance of a time where the Star could show off alongside their frescos.  
One of these is so majestic, it's a shame not to have seen it sooner. Kalortha can't help but display her astonishment.

_ Yes, the fresco. _

The fresco is half-faded now that its maintenance was replaced with the Queen's, but the figure is clear nonetheless.  
A young 64-years-old-ish damsel in a white attire strikes a relaxed pose, showing her curves and her full stomach as to resemble the Star. On the background — invisible because of the lack of light — the Star arises and frames the girl's head. The circlet is not adorned with any jewel, there is no need — it shines on its own, and with it also its owner — .  
That smile could have dispersed any storm in any land and in any heart, a little sparkle of hope through carpets and carpets of black clouds. Always watching.

That's why she's been called Shnartha the Ray.

Shnartha could remember it. It had been difficult to keep that pose for hours for the sketch — luckily there were also frequent breaks — but the result was so realistic that annoyance's worth it. The painting showed the freshness of the sea and the brightness of the stars, of the Star and of the Ray.  
Her, or rather, what her was before that illness came. She stares at it as staring at a dusty mirror.  
And here she is, Shnartha the Guinea pig, much more thinner than Kalortha, her own slave.

_ This must be a joke. _

All because of those old shrews or wombs or whatever name will suit, they call themselves seers and couldn't give any information of that damned disease — aside of "she'll be ill", may the Star burn them all alive, as her whole being is right now — .  
She remembers that exchange she had with that seer, the dumbest so far — she'd met a few in her long life, but this one wore the grin the mask carried — :

— The ray will set for its final time, and in its last rise a cloud will choke it off before the zenith — the voice said. Period. When the silence was unnerving to stay, Shnartha asked for more:

— I'll die, then?

— Was that not clear enough?

Don't lash out, you're better than that.

— When?

— Soon

What a pitiful answer, she would have spitted on that grinning mask if Ronnakh hadn't stopped her. He was quite collected, actually.

— Explain yourself — he ordered, annoyance hissing from his lips. His arm covering her shoulder was enough to relax the Queen.

— It will be for consumption — the mask echoed mystically — at least that's how the future doctors will call it — it turned quiet again.

— More — Shnartha said. The Queen asked for more.

— You're asking for too much, woman. We say what we see, and we see what's meant to be seen and be said

— So you're telling me I'm meant to die rotting for the-Star-only-knows-why?!

— You're rephrasing wrongly — the mask doesn't stop smiling — you're not one of the Great Riders of the Sky, nor the Celestial King nor the Celestial Queen if such an abomination was possible — she could taste their nausea at the thought — Nothing will be swallowed by Chaos with or without you

— ENOUGH — the Queen desired so much to just shut that mask's mouth for once. She couldn't believe that tongue was tasting truth serum.

— Mi-

— SHUT UP SHUT UP — she curls in a ball, maybe then those voices from the head-

— MISS — a grip on her shoulder tears her sanity away from the balcony of the reverie.  
Shnartha pantes at the tortion as a cloud of dust rises before the Star's rays.  
The reality.

— Ugh — _this must be a joke_ — Wh- — _oh. That's Kalortha, that's the routine walk. And-We're in the Main, right._

_ No, wait- _

Everything becomes dark — where's the Star — and, in a fetal position, she can do nothing but wait for the loom to return.

She's dying.  
Ag-

She screams, in gibberish, then all stops for one final time.  
She…

* * *

… is dead?  
That's what you dared to think? If any — any — Ambrosian had even a little suspected the idea, they would have sent you to the sharks. Please, consider yourself lucky your tongue didn't obey your mind.

She's not dead. Death's symptoms don't show on her, she looks even healthier than before.  
And no doctor succeeded to explain this, even after 20 years since her beddy-bye. Just hypothesis.  
Science just can't explain, because it applies on mortal being, and she's not.  
She's the Queen, she's changed shape — she's not just a Ray but now she's Shnartha the Aurora — and will soon return to bring again Harmony to fix this period of doubt. Until then, she will keep watching upon us.

She will return.  
Everybeing believes it.

Ronnakh'd believed it, too, and at first he was happy to know his mum would have been by his side — king at 60 years old, even younger than her the day she became Queen — .

Anything was ok. Not perfect, but still.  
But then time passes, and people turn even more fanatic than naturally possible, overruning the believable limit by a long shot.

Everything Ronnakh the Cirrus says are Shnartha the Aurora's words. Anything he does are her decisions. The circlet shines not because of its material but due to her presence on the bringer's head, as if he's inspired by her. Even his Royal slave is his mother's, because the Aurora can be at ease.  
This didn't bother him at the beginning, he was worried about reaching her standards.  
Then he understood.

He shouldn't worry, because he'll never can. Because he's not her.  
If he was her, he would have her same principles. He doesn't.  
If he was her, he would have her same tastes. He doesn't.  
If he was her, he would have her memories. He doesn't.  
She found her way of ruling, he'll find his.

But people are nostalgic, and fanatic, and annoying.  
Ronnakh's started to doubt himself.  
His sleep was disturbed by convultions and nightmares and crisis. Ronnakh started to talk to himself at the mausoleum with the mother.  
Kalortha, their slave, hadn't found anything of it sospicious. She's once asked:

— What did she say? How's the sky?

Ronnakh knew he could manipulate any midge with just one word. So he lied:

— It's hell

Just to shut her up.

He couldn't lie to himself, though. So, every now and then, he would fill a diary with his own thoughts. Stress can ink several pages. The last entry was:

> Obviously I loved my mother but I feel like whenever my allies, my people, my family look at me they see her and it makes me think that I can never be as good as she was. And every time I look in the mirror I see her face staring at me and I wonder if I can ever move on and be my own person.  
> Maybe I should find out

He'd waited for the guards to sleep before sneaking into the mausoleum. In a minute his mother stands, defenseless.

He stabbed her, 8 times. His mad scream was enough to alarm the surveillance, and Ronnakh was frozen covered in blood. He didn't resist, but smiled.  
Shnartha didn't stop him, he was himself.

The deep wound was located on her chest, but no-one feared the worst and for little reason. What's a cut to be feared so much?  
I'd not waited for long to know the answer.

Firstly there was one scab, then time let the others emerge.  
Her skin was not that healthy anymore — decomposition's not for any normal sleeper — .

People were shocked. The crowd howled and yelled in despair. Every comforting melody was chocked by hiccups. No exhaustion could stop the angst in core.  
But the Star eventually got tired of it.

As the Star was setting on the sea to sleep, a choir rose, screaming and begging to just stop.  
But it didn't, and lay down. As it disappeared everybeing sacrificed their living breath just to say in every pitch and pace:

> May the glory of Shnartha bless all the freshmen, so that the land of Desolation may be the island of Harmony, in which she found the way to save our Present.

People were shocked as tomorrow happened. The Star was back, and it was simply too hard to process.  
In two days the old routine was restored, a new Star born, and no-one said the Aurora's name again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing about a SARS-ish desease during pandemic. I did it  
> The beginning is set, let's start the engine

**Author's Note:**

> Please report any grammar or typographic mistake or suggestion for style writing. I need it  
> Let's hope not to abort it  
> Hear you soon


End file.
